


If At First You Don't Succeed

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [118]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Boys Kissing, Canon Era, Crack, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Humour, Infidelity, Jealous Arthur Pendragon, Kissing, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Arthur Pendragon, Oblivious Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 13:07:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14356137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: Merlin always heard “kiss me on the lips” when Arthur was speaking, but usually it was subtext.Written forthiskink meme prompt.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've flagged this as infidelity because Arthur is technically courting Gwen at the time, but their relationship is not exclusive. The mildly dubious consent refers to Arthur being a bit of a bully in the beginning; however, Merlin is definitely 100% into the whole thing by the end.

 

“Kiss me,” Arthur said.

 

Merlin felt his mouth drop open, and the empty chamber pot he had been carrying fell to the floor with a clang. “Ex _cuse_ me?”

 

“You heard me.” Arthur came to a halt half a foot away from him, arms folded and an expression on his face that made him look a lot closer to murder than making out. “I need someone to give me an objective assessment of my skills. And since I know you live to criticise me—”

 

“Well, I wouldn’t put it _that_ way—”

 

“—I know I can count on you to give me your honest opinion,” Arthur finished. He narrowed his eyes at Merlin. “Especially since _you_ know I can put you in the stocks in a heartbeat if I don’t like what you have to say.”

 

Merlin wanted to point out that, actually, if it was honesty Arthur wanted then threatening to punish him for giving an incorrect answer wasn’t really the right way to go about it, but he took another look at Arthur’s face and decided against it. Discretion was the better part of not-getting-his-head-chopped-off, and all that.

 

“Fine,” he said, sighing as if this were the most tedious chore in the world. It wasn’t—that honour went to cleaning the leech tank—but it wouldn’t do to give Arthur the impression that he _wanted_ this. “Stand still, then. And put your arms down.”

 

Looking wary, Arthur did as he was told, and Merlin took a deep breath before leaning over to press their mouths together. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner Arthur could go back to having his tantrum and the sooner Merlin could escape with his dignity intact.

 

Arthur’s lips were warm and dry, somewhat silkier than Merlin had imagined. Not that he spent a lot of time thinking about Arthur’s lips in general, however plush and soft they looked, or the way they would feel moving hesitantly against his own, or, indeed, what it would be like if Arthur were to open his mouth _just slightly_ in order for Merlin’s tongue to slip inside, turning the kiss into something unexpectedly hot and deep—

 

“Um,” Merlin said, pulling back somewhat dazedly a short while later. “So, that was—I mean. I guess that was okay.”

 

“Okay,” Arthur repeated in a flat voice.

 

“Well, yeah. I mean, I haven’t kissed very many people, so it’s not like I have much to compare it with,” Merlin said reasonably. “But it wasn’t—slimy or gross or anything. It was fine.”

 

Arthur shot him a baleful glare. “That’s very helpful,” he said. “Thank you so much, I’m so grateful to know that my kissing skills are a notch above those of an absolute cretin.”

 

“You did _ask_ ,” Merlin said, feeling as if Arthur may have lost sight of this most important point. “I’m only telling you what I think.”

 

“And that’s your honest opinion, then, is it? That my kisses are _okay_?” Arthur was building up quite a head of steam now, his cheeks flushed and his hair in disarray. He flung his hands up in the air. “Okay as opposed to what? Or should that be _whom_? Who have you kissed that does it better than me?”

 

“Um,” Merlin hedged. “Well, Gwaine, for one.”

 

“ _Gwaine!?_ ”

 

“And Lancelot,” Merlin added, helpfully. Arthur’s eyes were practically shooting sparks now, a muscle twitching in his jaw so hard that it looked almost painful. “Come to think of it, that’s probably where Gwen’s getting her comparisons from as well. You know she has a crush on Lance. _Used to_ have a crush on Lance,” he amended, when Arthur appeared to be close to throttling him. “Not anymore, obviously.”

 

“Obviously,” Arthur ground out. “Since she apparently still thinks Lancelot’s kisses are better than mine.”

 

“Look,” Merlin said, sensing that things were getting a little out of hand. “If this is about what I let slip the other day—”

 

“—I don’t see what _else_ it could be about—”

 

“—then I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you what Gwen said. She was probably just venting, and your kissing technique had nothing to do with it. Maybe it wasn’t even you she was talking about! I just figured you should be aware, so that you could, I don’t know. Practice? Maybe? If you—if you wanted to, that is…”

 

For a long moment, Arthur only stared at him, his nostrils flaring with barely contained rage. Then, strangely, he seemed to calm down.

 

“What an excellent idea, Merlin,” he said, wrapping an arm around Merlin’s shoulders and pinning him tightly against his side. When he smiled, it was to reveal far too many teeth for Merlin’s liking. “How kind of you to offer your services. I realise what a hardship it must be to reach out to someone with such _mediocre_ abilities,” here he gave Merlin a little shake that made his teeth rattle, “but I have no doubt that both Guinevere and I will stand to benefit from your expertise.”

 

“Ex—expertise?” Merlin stuttered. “But—Arthur, I told you—”

 

“ _Expertise_ ,” Arthur said forcefully, his grip tightening around Merlin’s torso until he could hardly breathe. “Clearly all of that slumming around in the tavern with Gwaine has taught you _something_ if you can rank all of our kisses so easily. And I’m sure you won’t object to sharing a little of that knowledge with those of us who have not been fortunate enough to acquire it. _Will you_ , Merlin?”

 

Merlin gulped. There was a determined gleam in Arthur’s eye now, the kind of gleam that tended to make his enemies run for cover and his friends start reaching for their swords. The kind of gleam that said, _you have dared to imply that there may be something I, Arthur Pendragon, cannot do better than anyone else. Prepare to have your opinions forcibly corrected_.

 

“No, sire,” he said faintly. What other option did he have? “I’d be happy to.”

 

“Excellent,” Arthur said, with satisfaction. “We’ll start tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

 

He probably should have refused, Merlin realised later. He knew Arthur, and he knew the prince wouldn’t have pushed the issue if Merlin put his foot down—Arthur was a prat, but he wasn’t completely devoid of human decency. Even so, the thought of Arthur turning to someone like _Gwaine_ for help instead did strange things to Merlin’s insides, and really, it was only a bit of kissing. Arthur might be annoying about it for a while, but he was bound to get bored of “practising” sooner or later and declare himself a master of the subject. How hard could it be to put up with him for a few more days?

 

“Jesus Christ, Arthur,” Merlin gasped the next morning, when Arthur finally let him go and took a step back. His head thumped back against the wooden door, which Arthur had flattened him against the second he’d stepped into the room, and he fought to catch his breath. “What the hell was that?”

 

“A kiss,” Arthur said smugly. His hair was still rumpled and soft where Merlin had dug his fingers into it, his feet bare beneath a summer shift that left his legs exposed. He looked good enough to eat. “I thought perhaps you might not have gotten the full effect yesterday, so I wanted to try again when you weren’t expecting it.”

 

“You can’t just—just pounce on someone like that and expect them to enjoy it!” Merlin protested, leaving aside the fact that, okay, he’d enjoyed it quite a bit. He dragged his eyes back up to Arthur’s face and glowered at him. “You’re not a caveman.”

 

Arthur pouted. “Fine,” he said, sounding sulky, and Merlin tried not to be distracted by the way this highlighted the pinkness of his swollen lips. “How would you do it, then?”

 

“I’d make sure the other person wasn’t carrying a loaded breakfast tray, for one thing,” Merlin grumbled, kneeling down to gather up the remains of Arthur’s breakfast things. He had dropped them when Arthur jumped him. “And I might actually say good morning first, before I started in with the kissing. Just to be polite.”

 

Arthur had the grace to look slightly ashamed of himself, and to Merlin’s surprise he bent down to help gather up the shards of broken crockery, piling them carefully onto the tray at Merlin’s feet. As he did so, their fingers brushed, and it was all Merlin could do not to yank his hand away as a flood of arousal punched him in the gut.

 

Christ. This really was not going according to plan.

 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, when they had finished. He looked at the shattered cups and dishes and bit his lip. “Can we try again?”

 

“Again?” Merlin’s stomach fluttered. “Are you _trying_ to kill me?”

 

Arthur shot him a lopsided grin. “I meant without the surprise part,” he clarified, and Merlin snorted.

 

“All right,” he said, charmed in spite of himself. “But this time, be a bit gentler, okay? Girls like gentle. And _I_ like it when you’re not trying to eat my face.”

 

“How would you know what girls like, _Mer_ lin?” Arthur asked, some of his usual confidence returning along with his smirk. “Don’t think it escaped my notice that the only other people you’ve kissed are men.”

 

"You—I—" Merlin sputtered in outrage, but Arthur was already leaning forward, his nose bumping Merlin’s cheek as he murmured, “Good morning,” before kissing him again.

 

This time, Arthur seemed to have remembered that there was another human being on the other end of the kiss, because his approach was much less aggressive than before, his teeth barely scraping against Merlin’s lower lip as he sucked it into his mouth. Merlin let out a surprised little moan, and in response Arthur shifted closer, bringing one hand up to cup the side of Merlin’s face as he deepened the moment.

 

As he had told Arthur—repeatedly—Merlin hadn’t actually been kissed a lot in his life, so he wasn’t sure precisely where he would rank the prince in terms of general skill. Gwaine had been a lot more confident, that was for sure, and certainly a lot more relaxed—Merlin got the sense that Arthur was holding back a little, as if he were still half expecting to be pushed away. Lancelot had been similarly reserved, but a lot nicer; he had always been more concerned about Merlin’s pleasure than his own. And yet…there was something about Arthur that was unique, an uneven blend of Gwaine’s brashness and Lancelot’s solicitude that got to Merlin in a way that neither of them ever had.

 

“I think you’re getting the hang of it,” he panted, when Arthur finally released him. “That was—definitely lots better.”

 

“Yeah?” Arthur looked pleased, and Merlin nodded mutely, wishing he weren’t still kneeling on the floor so that he’d be able to reach down and adjust himself without drawing Arthur’s attention. He wasn’t sure whether Arthur would be proud or horrified to realise he’d somehow managed to make Merlin hard just by kissing him, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. Actually, scratch that—Arthur would definitely be proud, but he would also never let Merlin forget it.

 

“Yep, loads better,” he said, hoping against hope that Arthur would let the whole thing go. “In fact, I don’t think you need lessons anymore. You’re good.”

 

Arthur’s happy expression faded, and his eyes slitted into a glare as he took in Merlin’s words. “Nice try,” he said, standing up with a jerk and hauling Merlin to his feet alongside him. “But I think there’s still some room for improvement. I want to give Guinevere a kiss that will really sweep her off her feet.”

 

Merlin was fairly sure he didn’t _actually_ let out a whimper at this pronouncement, but it was a near thing. It hadn’t even been a full day, and already he was beginning to suspect that he was in way over his head.


	3. Chapter 3

 

The next few weeks proceeded in much the same fashion. Despite Merlin’s admonitions, Arthur seemed to take great delight in ambushing him when he least expected it, pulling him into deserted hallways and empty storage rooms for a quick “practice session” whenever he had the opportunity. Merlin wasn’t exactly complaining—aside from his tendency towards over-enthusiasm, Arthur wasn’t a _bad_ kisser; in fact, Arthur wasn’t bad at all—but it was getting harder and harder to conceal the fact that, against all odds, having Arthur’s mouth all over him _did things_ to Merlin. Things that he really couldn’t explain, except by admitting to himself that he had a weakness for arrogant prats which he’d somehow managed to overlook for all these years.

 

It didn’t help that, every so often, there were moments when he thought Arthur might feel the same way about him. Intellectually, he knew that the prince was interested in Gwen—that was what had started this whole mess in the first place—but then Arthur would _look_ at him, or nuzzle at his neck _just so_ , or press his thumb gently into the divot of Merlin’s mouth and kiss him so sweetly that Merlin was certain his knees were going to melt and he’d end up expiring in a boneless puddle of goo at Arthur’s feet. It was humiliating, that’s what it was, and to make matters worse he seemed to be completely incapable of putting a stop to it. He wasn’t even sure he _wanted_ to.

 

“Maybe you should—um—try practising with Gwen a bit more as well,” he suggested one day, when Arthur had him pinned up against the wall of the empty council chamber. The words came out a little breathless, as Arthur had his mouth fastened to Merlin’s jugular at the time—he had taken to the whole, “kisses can happen in places other than on the lips” concept rather well, in Merlin’s opinion—and for a moment Merlin wondered whether he had even heard. “I mean, everyone has different…kissing…preferences…so maybe if you found out more about what Gwen likes—”

 

At last, Arthur pulled away from Merlin’s neck, his brow furrowed. “Merlin,” he said, slowly, “am I doing something wrong?”

 

“What?” Merlin blinked at him. “No. Nothing wrong. Why?”

 

“Because you’re _talking_ ,” Arthur said, punctuating the statement with a pointed nip to Merlin’s throat. “And I’m not sure _talking_ is the most efficient use for your mouth, just at the moment.”

 

Merlin made an affronted sound and shoved at him, pretending to make a break for the door, but Arthur simply reeled him back in by the collar of his tunic, and Merlin allowed himself to be caught. Truth be told, he didn’t want to think about Gwen right now anyway. He knew she and Arthur were not officially courting—they had hardly done more than kiss a few times, according to Arthur—but he couldn’t help feeling guilty all the same. What had started out as a slightly odd favour, one which ought to have benefited Gwen as much as Arthur, was rapidly becoming something Merlin didn’t think he could live without, and he wasn’t looking forward to the time when, surely any day now, Arthur would declare that he’d had enough of practising and move on to the real thing.

 

“You look happy,” Gaius observed, when Merlin made his way back to the infirmary some time later. Merlin made a belated effort to squash the silly grin he could feel trying to take over his face and rearrange his features into something less besotted and gormless, but he already knew he was fighting a losing battle. “Did the cook accidentally empty the boiled cabbage over Arthur’s head again?”

 

“No, more’s the pity,” Merlin said, still grinning. “I’m just—having a good day, that’s all. Arthur’s being a lot less of an ass than usual, and no one has tried to kill him all week. I haven’t needed to use my magic for ages!”

 

“It’s a modern miracle,” the old physician said drily. He folded his arms. “So, your good mood wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with why  _this_ found its way underneath your bed, then, would it?”

 

 _This_ turned out to be a very familiar volume, the appearance of which on the table in front of him made Merlin choke on air. Between the two of them, he and Arthur had rapidly exhausted their meagre stockpile of kissing experience, so Merlin had taken to rifling the pages of Gaius’ medical textbooks in order to keep the whole charade going. Arthur at least seemed to appreciate the effort—and creativity—Merlin put into coming up with new ideas, but from the look on Gaius’ face he was rather less impressed.

 

“I, um, borrowed it?” Merlin said, his voice coming out in a mortified squeak. “Just for some bedtime reading, you know…I was studying!”

 

“Indeed,” Gaius said, eyebrows rising, and Merlin cringed. “Merlin, whatever—or whomever—you choose to pursue in your spare time is none of my business, but I hope I don’t have to tell you, of all people, to be careful. Quite apart from the ordinary complications that might arise from your _studies_ when they are put into practice, should your partner ever get wind of your…special abilities, you stand to lose a lot more than just your virtue.”

 

Beyond flustered now, Merlin could only nod vigorously, wondering if it were possible for the human body to burst into flames from sheer embarrassment. Fortunately, Gaius seemed to be just as uncomfortable as he was, and after a few more awkward comments he let the matter drop, allowing Merlin to flee for the safety of his bedroom.

 

Even this humiliation, however, was not enough to stop Merlin from kissing Arthur back when he brought him his dinner later that night; nor did it keep him from wondering, secretly, what it would be like if Arthur ever decided to take his virtue for real.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Eventually, of course, something had to give, and Merlin thought afterwards that he ought to have known the end was coming, even if he didn’t realise it would be coming quite so soon.

 

They were in the western granary when it happened. Merlin was straddling Arthur’s lap, “practising” a technique they had both become rather fond of, and his fingers had just slipped beneath Arthur’s waistband to stroke along the soft, bare skin when the sound of the granary door opening made him pull back with a start.

 

“Oh!” A familiar figure was standing in the doorway, one hand raised to her mouth in shock. “Oh, I’m sorry—I didn’t realise—”

 

She was gone before Merlin understood what had happened, his brain switching tracks from _Arthur_ to _everything else_ so slowly it was like swimming through treacle. When the knowledge finally slammed home to him, however, he scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over Arthur’s legs in his haste to get to the door.

 

“Gwen? Gwen!” He staggered out into the corridor just in time to see her skirts disappearing around the corner. “Gwen, wait, I can explain!”

 

“It’s all right.” Arthur came up behind him, catching Merlin’s waist before he could dash off after his friend. “She’ll understand.”

 

“She’ll _understand_?” Merlin gaped at him wildly. Perhaps the lack of oxygen to his brain was causing Arthur to hallucinate, or perhaps he was simply that spectacularly _dim_ , because if Merlin had found Gwen kissing Arthur in his place there was no way on earth he would _understand_. “She must be so angry with me—”

 

“She promised she wouldn’t be.” Arthur was still holding onto him, and it was slowly beginning to dawn on Merlin that something wasn’t right here; that Arthur wasn’t nearly as upset by this as he ought to be. “That is, when I told her we’d be better off seeing other people, she said it would probably be a good idea. I don’t think she liked kissing me as much as she thought she would.”

 

Merlin stared at him for a long moment, hardly even noticing as his knees gave way and he had to be helped back inside the storeroom to sit down on one of the sacks of grain. Arthur sat next to him with his eyes down, seemingly unable to meet Merlin’s gaze, and played with the hem of his tunic while Merlin gathered himself enough to speak.

“So,” Merlin said, when it became apparent that the prince wasn’t about to say anything. “You broke things off with Gwen, I take it.”

 

“I—yes. A while ago, actually.”

 

“I see. And was this before or after you told me you wanted to get better at kissing so that you could sweep her off her feet?”

 

Arthur winced. “It’s not what you think,” he said hastily. “Honestly, Merlin. I can explain.”

 

“Can you.” Merlin's voice wavered dangerously for a moment before he pulled himself together. “Because I’m not sure I can. Was this your idea of a funny joke? To see how long you could string me along before I figured it out?”

 

“Of course not.” Arthur reached out to take his arm, and to his credit he actually sounded upset. “I never meant for you to find out like that. I just—I didn’t know how to tell you—”

 

“Tell me _what?_ ” Merlin demanded. He tugged himself free of Arthur’s grip. Now that the first shock of discovery had faded, he was starting to feel angry as well as bewildered. “That you were no longer courting the woman I’ve been helping you practise kissing for? I imagine saying the words out loud might’ve helped a little, unless you were expecting me to somehow _read your mind_.”

 

“Yes—no— _Mer_ lin.” Arthur made an exasperated noise. “I ended things with Guinevere _because_ I started practising kissing with you.” He swallowed hard, finally meeting Merlin’s gaze, and clarified, “Because I didn’t want to _stop_ practising kissing with you.”

 

Had Arthur picked up one of the sacks of grain and smacked him over the head with it, Merlin couldn’t have been more stunned.

 

“Say that again.”

 

“I didn’t want to stop kissing you,” Arthur repeated, the words coming out in a rush now as if he were afraid that Merlin would try to run away. “I didn’t mean to lie to you—I really _did_ start out trying to become a better kisser for Gwen—but somewhere along the way I realised that she wasn’t—that we weren’t—well. That I’d rather just keep kissing you, instead.”

 

His cheeks were bright red by this time, and Merlin was fairly certain that was the longest speech about _feelings_ that Arthur Pendragon had ever given. It really shouldn’t have been as endearing as it was.

 

“You’re an idiot,” he said bluntly, hooking a finger beneath Arthur’s chin and tilting it back towards him. “You couldn’t just have _said something_?”

 

From the look on Arthur’s face, this simple solution obviously hadn’t occurred to him. Merlin rolled his eyes.

 

“You couldn’t, could you. I bet you’d have broken out in hives if you even thought about it.” He shook his head. “Well, I suppose it’s not your fault. After all, I am an expert at kissing; I can hardly blame you if you got swept away by the extent of my powers. I have it on good authority that I’m the best kisser around.”

 

“Shut up,” Arthur said, a grin dawning slowly over his face. “You’re not _that_ good.”

 

“I’m not, huh?” Merlin folded his arms behind his head and reclined against them, raising his eyebrows in a challenge as his gaze lit pointedly on Arthur’s mouth. “Really. Well. You know what they say.”

 

“What do they say?” Arthur asked him, smiling, leaning in a little closer so that Merlin could feel the warmth of him all along his side.

 

“Practice makes perfect,” Merlin said solemnly, before closing the distance between them once more and capturing Arthur’s mouth with his own.


End file.
